“What the deuce do you mean by that?” asked Jones, picking himself up. “I’ll just give you—fifth-form, or no fifth-form—the best licking you ever had.”
“You’ll just not presume to lay upon him the tip of your finger,” said Whalley, who was quite as big as Jones, and was very fond of Kenrick.
“Not for flinging me down and kicking my hat into the water?”
“No, Jones,” said Whalley, quietly. “I don’t know what you were talking about, but you clearly meant to insult him, from your manner.”
“What’s the row? what’s up?” said a number of boys, who began to throng round.
“Only a plebeian splutter of rage from our well-bred friend there,” said Mackworth, pointing contemptuously at Kenrick, who stood with dilated nostrils, still heaving with rage.
“But what about?”
“Heaven only knows apropos of just nothing.”
“You’re a liar,” said Kenrick impetuously. “You know that you told lies and insulted me; and if you say it again, I’ll do the same again.”
“Only try,” said Jones, in a surly tone.